


tamriel's forgotten few.

by eoghainy



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoghainy/pseuds/eoghainy





	1. let out the dogs.

Sharp teeth sank into the soft tendons of the Altmer’s ankle, immediately unbalancing him. Due to being mid-movement, he couldn’t help but collapse, landing hardly upon his left arm and becoming winded. He already ached, able to feel bruises begin to spread over his tender skin. Howls had been filling his ears for the more recent part of five minutes, terror instilled in every particle of his being. It was almost impossible to outrun hunting dogs. Their superior nature and four legs always gave them the higher ground. But it didn’t matter, he had already done what he needed in order to be successful. His own capture had been guaranteed. Breaking the scent lines of children had been easy enough, but breaking his own scent line would have been impossible. Capture was absolutely inevitable, and he had accepted it.

Turning sharply, Errion flipped himself onto his back, instinctively folding his arms over his face. His eyes were shut tightly, bracing for the flow of tears. When no sharp blow came wailing down upon him, and when no teeth sank into his skin again, he paused in confusion, his eyes slowly opening. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” A male’s voice was icy, chilling his core far better than the ground. “Did you think I  _wouldn’t fucking notice_?” Luvie’s voice rose to an angered yell. “I hate to tell you, Errion, I  _fucking_   _noticed_! You think you’re so smart, figuring out how to smuggle  _my_  share of the cut out. I don’t know how you did it, I don’t know how you fucking grew a spine, but I won’t tolerate it. I won’t  _fucking_ tolerate it. I’ve reached my last goddamned straw when it comes to you.”

One of Luvie’s prized hunting dogs crouched over Errion, it’s body terse as it prepared itself for a lunge. Its eyes were bright with excitement, yet it didn’t go for the kill. It was waiting for Luvie’s word, for his direct order to perform the killing blow, or rather, bite. Errion had no doubt that it’s sharp teeth would tear into his skin within a moment and leave him to die. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the dogs burning dark gaze, nor could he ignore the way it licked its lips hungrily.

Errion raised his dark gaze once he realized that it wouldn’t attack, staring at Luvie defiantly. His jaw was set, teeth clenching together so hard that he feared that they would break. He didn’t speak. He had no words that would please his master.

“You son of a bitch, who helped you?” Luvie drew closer, his turquoise hues glimmering with rage. The Dunmer was absolutely enraged. “Which one of those fucks helped you?” He had the rest of his dogs flanking the one that stood above Errion. “I know you aren’t smart enough to come up with such a . . .  _intricate_  plan on your own. So help me Azura, Errion, who the  _fuck_  helped you?”

There was no way he was going to sell out Ra’Cha! He’d rather take his chances with Luvie than expose her plans. He had risked his life earlier by getting the kids out and by getting them to the border. Hopefully, by now, they’d be safe in Cyrodiil with friends. By tomorrow, they’d be on their way to the Black Marshes. Not even Luvie would chase them that far. If Ra’Cha and Errion were as smart as they thought they were, he would never pick up the trail to begin with.

To show more of his defiance, Errion tilted his chin up, never breaking eye contact with Luvie. He had never openly defied in such a way. His fear of Luvie had always crushed down any sense of rebellion that he once had. Now, he just didn’t care anymore. What was there to care for when you had nothing left? He’d rather die than stay in this type of life. Two decades was enough. It was more than enough! He was  _so_  tired. If it weren’t for Ra’Cha, he’d . . . he’d probably have succumbed to Luvie by now.  

“You’re done,” Luvie shook his finger at him. “You’re  _fucking done_. I have had  _enough_  of your shit.” The Dunmer turned his back, gesturing to those he had brought along. He had switched to Dunmeris, his voice sounding harsh and unfamiliar. Though Errion couldn’t understand him, he knew what was going on, he knew that order. He was dog food as soon as Luvie walked away.

For a moment, a feeling of fear rose inside of Errion, but he fought it back. At this point, he was more terrified of the hunting dog on him; it’s hot saliva drooling onto his skin, teeth bared in a violent, open-mouthed growl. Errion involuntarily shivered, finding that a second icy feeling spread throughout his body. He couldn’t . . . he couldn’t move? His limbs felt as if they were glued to the ground, and his back absolutely refused to arch upwards or downwards. The only appendage that he could afford to move was his head. It was minimal, but he still managed to pick it up, getting the scent of his blood upon the dogs tongue. Its pink tongue lolled dangerously in front of Errion’s eyes, menacingly.

“Luvie,” he croaked, “Luvie! What are you doing?” 

The Dunmer looked back at him, his eyes cold. He really _was_ finished. “I told you, you were  _done_.” His voice was harsher than Errion could remember. Something, which he presumed to be spoken in Dunmeris was spat in his direction. It didn’t register what it could possibly be until the dog’s growl heightened to a delighted howl. Now, it was now! 

Errion cringed into the ground at how loud it was, fighting against whatever kept his body locked upon the hard ground. It was so loud that he longed to cover his ears, but too late he realized just how exposed he was. Sharp, tearing teeth met with the tender skin on his shoulder, skillfully ripping down his exposed bone. Its breath was hot on his skin, and its teeth went back for a second bite as soon as it pulled away. 

This time, Errion cried out in pure agony, his voice breaking. He could feel his blood beginning to profusely run down his chest, seeping into the thin fabric of his shirt. In a vain attempt to escape, he twisted his head to the left, a hoarse scream pulling from the depths of his throat. Each section of his skin felt as if it were being individually picked from his tendons and muscles, and he could swear that the dog’s teeth were scraping against his bones. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. All he could do was  _scream_  —

* * *

“You’re awake,” hands touched his shoulders. “ _Finally_. I thought infection would have set in.” Ra’Cha’s eyes were wide, her unusual slitted pupils telling Errion that she was as worried as ever. “Luvie was aiming to kill you this time. I’m so glad you survived.” 

Errion grunted, his face twisting into a grimace. “Why . . . does everything hurt?”

“You don’t remember?” Ra’Cha’s eyes immediately narrowed.

“No, I blacked out.” His voice rasped painfully in his throat. “What happened?”

Ra’Cha sat on the bed with him, her ruby gaze grieved. He had never seen her look so somber, so horrified. “You were in an out for a few days. After Luvie had his hound rip apart your shoulder and some of your chest,” her fingers touched the fabric keeping his skin together, “you snapped back into consciousness when he brought you back here. You were saying things . . .things that antagonized Luvie, and he . . . well, don’t you feel it?” 

She touched his cheek, and he reacted with an unexpected flinch. The skin was sore to the touch. Come to think of it,  _everything_  felt as if he had had the shit kicked out of him; his ribs hardly expanded outwards, and each breath was far too shallow to be safe. One eye was completely swollen giving him the smallest amount of sight possible, and air whistled through his broken nose. The cartilage popped with every breath. His lips were split, and Errion could see scrapes adorning his knuckles and his arms when he raised them. He didn’t remember exactly what he had said to provoke Luvie when they arrived back into hell, but apparently, it had been bad enough to worry Ra’Cha.

“Fuck,” Errion groaned, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. He crossed his arm over his ribs, wincing again. They had to be shattered. “I did it, though. I got them out.”

“I know,” Ra’Cha’s lips curled up into a delighted smile. “They’re crossing through Hammerfell right now. They won’t be found. Thank you, I know you risked a lot.” The Bosmer rose, hesitating. “You’re going next.”

“What?” Errion looked at her, surprise lighting his face. “What do you mean ‘ _I’m going next_ ’?”

“Luvie is going to kill you,” Ra’Cha’s voice trembled, her eyes were shadowed with fear. “He’s going to rip you apart when he gets the chance. Tomorrow morning, if you’re able, you’re leaving. Headed on the next cart to Markarth, and hopefully further.” She tucked her chestnut strands behind her pointed ear, her gaze still glimmering with grief. “You’re leaving. You have to, Errion.”

“How can I leave?” With a burst of strength, Errion pushed himself to his feet, immediately wobbling. He wrapped his hand around the bedpost, glaring at Ra’Cha. “I can’t just abandon you.”

“You  _have_  to,” Ra’Cha put her hands on his forearms, keeping him steady. Her voice was incredibly firm as she repeated herself. “You can’t stay. Errion, you’ve been here for too long; this place is beginning to get to you. You need to get away, and this is your chance.”

“But I can’t leave you in good faith,” Errion argued, his voice breathless. 

“Luvie won’t get rid of me so quickly. I’m useful to him in more ways than one. Whatever he needs . . . I can offer. You can’t.” She cupped Errion’s sore cheeks. “Please, take this gift I offer;  _leave_. It’s the only way I can help you. Give yourself the gift of freedom, my friend.”

Errion leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers. Ra’Cha shivered, but didn’t pull away. She was far too kind. “What will he do to you when he finds out that you’re the one orchestrating all of this?” He couldn’t bear to think of what Luvie would do, how he would rip into her.

“He won’t find out,” she whispered. “He won’t find out.”

And boy, were both wrong about how far Luvie’s influences could spread.


	2. blessed be those of horrific birth.

“ _Nelyn_ ,” Errion’s voice had an edge of worry to it. The Altmer was watching as his boyfriend got farther and farther away, but he could not follow. The sword at his throat would make things incredibly awkward if he were to start moving. “I’ve run into a spot of trouble.”

“What?” Nelyn turned, his eyes widening when he saw the city guard keeping Errion pinned to the wall with nothing but the point of his steel sword. The cool metal was starting to bite into his skin, and prickles of pain shot from the entry wound. A trickle of blood ran down his skin, but Errion did not voice a complaint.

“I believe . . . we are being arrested.” 

The guard grunted. “Her Majesty requests that you both be stopped before you could leave the city. You’re both in a _lot_ of trouble.” 

“What crimes did we commit?” Nelyn asked icily. His suspicion was palpable, Errion could feel it radiating off of him in waves. He had still not made a move towards any of the weapons he had hidden on him, and for that Errion was glad. He would prefer not to have his throat slit on his damned nameday.

“Treason.” The guard growled. “The Queen herself pinned you both as traitors to the crown, and to the Isles. You’re both going to rot in her prison for the rest of your damn lives.” 

“That is _enough_!” An authoritative female voice was as sharp as a whip. “Step away from that man. He is one of us. Do you not see the shade of his skin? The point to his ear? Do you not _feel_ that his blood is similar to your own? You should be ashamed.” Her voice took on a tone of a scolding mother. “Remind me to speak to your captain before this day is over. Threatening my kin, oh! That is a crime.” 

Heels clicked loudly upon the stones as the woman drew forward, the skirts of her dress tucked up within her hands. The first thing Errion noticed about her was the swelling to her stomach. This woman was breathless, most likely because she had run after the group yet was weighed down by the growing babe in her stomach. She was a pretty woman, an Altmer of course. Errion could _swear_ that he had seen her somewhere before; her ringlets were lazy and a soft honeyed brown, and her eyes were the color of amber when sunlight hit it directly. Her lips were plush, but the bottom one was swollen in one place. If Errion had not had a troubled history with abuse, he would have simply presumed that it was a bruise from a passionate kiss. But that was a strike from a hand. He would have known that anywhere. 

“Go on, go!” The woman waved her hand at the guard. “I dismiss you from my presence. Go back to your duty before I report you to your captain.” 

“As you wish, my Queen.” The guard bowed deeply, his voice sullen, before abruptly turning and stalking off. He was displeased, clearly, but the Queen didn’t look any happier. 

“Your Grace,” Nelyn inclined his head, and Errion followed suit. This woman was bugging him . . . how could he find every part of her familiar, but not know her name? It was at the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t figure it out. 

“Please, Ramoran,” she moved both of her hands upwards as a gesture for them both to rise, “I do not need you to bow. My Lord, _you_ grace _me_ with your presence.” The Queen offered him the kindest of smiles. “Please, forgive my guard for his rough treatment. The Isles have . . . had some troubles in the most recent years.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Nelyn snorted. He was snarky, but he still was giving this woman respect. 

 _Odd, I’ve never seen Nelyn bow to someone before, not even to Jarl’s in Skyrim. Should I be talking, or even trying to treat her with the same respect?_ Errion wondered, brushing the blood off of his neck. It was warm as it spread across his skin. _No, I did not grow up a Lord. I fear I would simply offend her and she would remove my head! I should keep my mouth shut and let Nelyn speak._

“You have been silent,” the woman observed in her gentle voice, her gaze catching his. It was so familiar . . . “Have you no words? I know you can speak.” The way she spoke to him was tender, almost as if she knew him. Maybe she thought she did; maybe the heat of the Isles was confusing her. Perhaps she thought he was someone else.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Errion dipped his head. “I am simply exhausted from our travels. It is an honor to be in your presence.” 

“You don’t remember me,” she observed. A smile toyed at the corners of her lips. “Surely you remember the tales I told you of dragons? How I was bit by one?” The woman was rolling up the left sleeve of her dress, treating the laced fabric carefully. Her soft skin hued with gold was revealed, complete with a bite scar that wrapped around her elbow. Easily hidden, but stark when revealed. “I remember I held you within the warm circle of my arms as I told you that I was bitten by a dragon, and your face lit up . . . but then you began to cry, telling me that you didn’t want the dragon’s bite to take me away from you, that if it did, then you would go slay that dragon yourself. Come now, Errion, has it been so long that you’ve forgotten your sisters face?”

Squinting, Errion studied her a bit closer now. The fine edge to her sharp cheekbones, the gentle way her lips naturally pursed, the flicker of her eyelashes as she casted her gaze around, the long lazy curls that were swept together at her waist, the sweet wink that she dropped when it began to dawn upon him.

“ _Calna_?” Errion gasped, his eyes immediately pricking with tears. “You . . . you’re supposed to be dead!” 

“And so are you, little brother.” She swept forward in a fluid motion, wrapping her arms around him. Hesitantly, and unwilling to hurt her, he remained still. Calna’s sweet scent of summer roses and violets was strong, so strong that it made Errion’s eyes sting. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. This was his elder sister, alive and breathing, holding him and talking to him! Her pregnant stomach was a bit of a bumper between the two of them, yet he still wrapped his arms tightly around her, tucking his face into her hair as he had when he was young. He was taller than her now and not to mention presumably stronger, but tucked up against her like this, he felt frail and small. For a moment, he could pretend he was seven years old again, hugging Calna before she ran off to her lessons.

“You’re pregnant.” Was all he could think to say when he pulled away from her, withdrawing his hands. 

Calna nodded, her curls bouncing. “Yes,” she murmured, resting her hand on her swollen stomach. “I am. This is my fifth; I can tell that it is going to be a boy.” 

“How so?” 

“How her stomach hangs.” Nelyn interjected. “I would have thought that a wondrous healer and alchemist like you would have known how to tell what the sex of a child would be.” He drawled, and Errion shot him a look.

“I never claimed to be able to tell,” he defended himself. “I’m glad that you’re happy.” 

Upon closer inspection of his sister, he could tell that she was not. There were finger sized bruises underneath her jaw, kept in shadow. But they were yellowing against her skin, showing their age. Someone must have grabbed her by the throat hard enough to leave deep indents on her flesh. She had the beginnings of dark circles curving underneath her eyes, indicating lack of sleep. The hand on her stomach seemed possessive, and her fingers ran over the fabric of her dress multiple times, almost as if she was trying to remind herself that she _was_ pregnant. 

“Listen to me,” Calna dropped her voice after she casted her gaze around. “Please, you must leave the Summerset Isles!” 

“ _What_?” Errion gaped. “No! I just got here, and I want to meet your children —”

“You have come to a dangerous place.” Calna looked at Nelyn. “Do you understand that? You both are in a lot of danger. Nelyn, because you’re a Ramoran, and Errion because you’re the sole heir of House Thilinaine. Do you know what they will do to you? There’s no time to explain this. Please, take the next boat back to wherever you’re calling home. Please, leave now. The Thalmor presence is very strong here, and they will not be keen on letting you slip through their fingers.” 

Nelyn looked horrified. “We must leave _immediately_.” He urged, grabbing Errion by the crook of his elbow. “C’mon, if she says it’s this dangerous . . .” 

 _He’s trying not to freak out,_ he realized. _He’s just as scared as she is. Have we truly come to such a dangerous place?_  

“They’ll rip you _apart_.” Her soft hands cupped his cheeks. Errion’s tongue felt like it was too big for his mouth, and he closed his eyes, struggling to think. Why was a fog coming over him _now_? He wanted to say so much to her, and yet he couldn’t seem to think of a single word. “I know this has been short, and I know you yearn for more. Please, for the love you bear me, go home. You have risked enough by coming back here, and if you try and contact me through letters — they will track you down. Never come back; don’t contact me, and try and lay low. Please. You are the sole hope for our House.” Her hands were tight on his cheeks. He felt as if he were saying goodbye to a piece of him that he didn’t know he had. 

“I . . . okay.” Errion nodded. 

“No goodbyes,” Calna whispered. “We don’t say goodbye; we only wish for the best. I wish you both much luck in your endeavors, my little brother. You are one lucky Thilinaine.” 

“And you are one lucky High Queen.” He managed to find his voice. “We will meet again, won’t we?” 

Calna’s smile was sad. Her silence served as the only answer he needed.


	3. when i thought you were asleep.

The tent was quiet. There was no noise aside from the gentle sounds of Nelyn’s breathing mixed with Errion’s own. There were no more lewd noises of lips pulling apart, of gasps and muffled moans, no more pleas for more and desperation to not part. That part of the night had indeed died down; to be tucked away and reflected upon at a later date. 

But for some reason, Errion couldn’t sleep. For hours, he had laid beside the sleeping Dunmer, idly trailing his fingers up and down the now dry skin of the arm farthest from him, looking upon the transparent ceiling and admiring the stars. Still, he could not believe that he had been lucky enough to find himself in bed with the stingiest ‘Mer alive, who kept everyone at arm’s length and rejected any real attempts at friendship. This man was his, and the way he was tucked up in Errion’s one armed grasp said it. 

He was awake not because he was unsatisfied, for he was. There was a sweet, familiar ache already beginning to settle in, and he found himself reflecting on everything. How it had all started, how close they had become and how Errion found himself not wanting to separate from Nelyn at any given point. He was attached, but he knew that . . . he knew that speaking such emotions aloud would only startle Nelyn away.

Yet, here he lay awake, needing to speak his words somewhere, but being unable to write a single word. He didn’t want to wake Nelyn by reaching for the leather-bound book and his quill, and he couldn’t stand just thinking. No, he had to speak out loud, albeit quietly, but out loud all the same. 

Checking one last time to see that Nelyn was still asleep and taking a moment to admire the rare expression of peace upon his hardened features. Gently, he reached up with his free hand to gently draw his thumb down the corner of his mouth, letting his hand fall flat on Nelyn’s chest, fingers splayed against his skin as he gathered his thoughts.

In a low voice, one hardly louder than a murmur, he spoke.

“I know I’ve no right coming into your life and demanding for more than you’re ready to give, believe me, I know that. You’re not ready for that, and frankly, neither am I. I don’t know what to do about my feelings for you, how I’ve come to truly love you. I thought I knew what it felt like to be loved with Taawen, but that was not love. That was a desperation to find comfort, companionship in another, and I regret how I hurt her. Hurting her was my last intention and I . . . still did it because I knew no other way.

I’ve never been granted the luck to make friends. I’m awkward and nervous, I fumble over my words and I come off as overly friendly, a bit desperate, even. I didn’t want to get involved with you before. I didn’t want to have things go wrong and backfire, thus making things extraordinarily awkward for the rest of the group. I know if something had happened, I would have found an excuse to leave, and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to leave the only place I presumed I had found a second family, a place where I could truly be myself.

And you were relentless. You saw something you wanted and you took it, and I couldn’t find the words to tell you no. I couldn’t find the words to tell you to stop before I found myself not falling, but being catapulted over the edge, unable to stop myself from falling in love with you. I haven’t even spoken these words out loud. I’ve only written them on paper and thought them, but I would never speak them. Not to you, no. 

I fear it’s too late to crush down any emotion that I feel towards you. I’ve come to adore almost every aspect of you; I love the way you flush when I say something out-of-character, I love the way you laugh when I try and make an awkward joke, and I love the way you look at me when you think no one is looking. I love how you take it upon yourself to wash my hair, how you run your lips along my scars, how you speak in Dunmeris, how you seem to touch me with more than your hands. I love how you let me see your vulnerable side, and I love how you let me in — how you let me know how your father ruined you.”

The hand that had been running along Nelyn’s arm stopped, and after a moment of silence, it begins its gentle path again.

“And I don’t care how ruined you are. I don’t care how you think see yourself, because that doesn’t matter anymore. Even if I have to sit on this for the rest of my life, just be something that you use and throw away at any point, I swear to any God or Daedra listening that I will be that just for you. I can be anything you need, something to fuck, something to touch, something to confide in and trust, and maybe not a sword, that might end badly, but I can damn well try. 

All of it because I believe — _no_ , Gods be damned I love you. No matter what it takes, I will fix you with every broken part of me, and if you so choose to leave then I can live. I can live knowing that I gave you everything and at least helped in some way or another. I don’t care if you never love me, if I’m just someone that you’ll forget. I love you, and I love you enough to respect any decision that you make. 

I just . . . I can’t help but hold out the hope that something might change, where you might realize that somewhere you feel something more than lust towards me. But I’m not asking, I will never ask. I feel no pity for myself because I know I have chosen to live this way, that I have done this to myself. 

Honestly, all I can stand to feel in this moment is my love for you, and I think that is enough to keep me satisfied.” 

Finding that no more words would come and a certain drowsiness was beginning to take over him, Errion shifted so that he was in a more comfortable position, both arms now wrapped around the narrow Dunmer. He only had an hour or so left to catch up on rest before the camp started to wake, but it didn’t matter to him. He had gotten his chance to vent, his chance to say things he never thought he’d say.

And for that, he was now content, ready to never speak of the words he had spoken again.


	4. pack of condoms.

As cliché as it was, the light in the kitchen turned on just as Errion was reaching for his car keys. Of course, it did! The first time he was sneaking out in a long time, and he already was caught. 

Vinntur was sitting on the counter, the neck of a whiskey bottle clutched loosely in his hands. His long legs were draped across the marble, one resting atop the other. He was wearing his old set of batman pajamas, but he had on a white wifebeater tank top to accommodate the heat. One dark eyebrow was quirked inquisitively at Errion, an unspoken question passing between the two of them. With a mocking sigh, he set the bottle down on the counter, unable to help the smile that furled across his lips.

“Sneaking out, are we?” 

Casually, Errion slid his keys into his back pocket, clasping his hands together at the small of his back whilst he was at it. “Possibly,” he said slowly. “Would you be upset if I were?” 

His brother snorted. “Uh, have you met me? I’m the one that encouraged you start being sexually active, and I helped you sneak out the first night that you did. I want you to have the most in life.” Affection leaked through Vinntur’s voice. “Who is the girl?” 

Errion barked out a laugh. “Girl?” He echoed. “There is no girl.” 

“C’mon, kid, _please_ tell me you’re not sneaking out with condoms in your back pocket just to go pick up some late-night coffee or some shit. You’re going out to see some girl. Cough her name up and I’ll let you go with minimal fight.” 

Frowning, Errion touched the pocket his condoms were in, unable to help the flush that took over his face. Nervous laughter peeled from his lip, causing him to scrub the pads of his fingers across the scruff lining his jaw. Did he dare tell his brother about his relationship with Nelyn? Well, what could it hurt? Vinntur never wanted to cause him any harm, and he’d never out either of them to get back at Errion for something that he might do in the future. It wasn’t like Vinntur was going to shout their relationship from the rooftops, either; he respected Errion’s choices to keep his personal life out of the papers.

“Nelyn Ramoran.” The name slipped past his lips like a whisper, catching in his throat. “I’m going to go have sex with Nelyn Ramoran.” 

What came from Vinntur was a mixture of a laugh and a snort. His head hit the cabinet as he threw it back, practically howling. When his laughter subsided to strangled gasps and snorts, with Errion waiting patiently for him to get over this fit, Vinntur finally managed to get himself under control. His brother, with tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, swallowed back another chortle that rose in his throat. 

“Okay, you’re banging Nelyn Ramoran. That makes a _lot_ of sense, thanks for clearing things up.” 

Errion, again, frowned. “I am, though. We kinda did a lot of shit at school, and then it just kinda carried into us figuring that we’d be better off dating.”

“Holy mother of God, you’re serious, aren’t you?” Vinntur stared at him with wide eyes. “You, my youngest brother, are having sex with _Nelyn_? Ho, my God. So, what are the juicy details? Who fucks who?”

It was Errion’s turn to blush. “It’s . . . he mostly . . . you know, he — ha, he fucks me.” 

“So why are you the one bringing the condoms?” 

“. . . we used them all last time I was there.” Errion coughed into his hand, feeling his phone vibrate against his keys. His ever so patient boyfriend had sounded urgent on the phone, sounding as if he were already on his way to having a good night and needed Errion to get there as fast as possible. Errion had agreed, promising that he was going to get there as soon as he could, but he didn’t anticipate that Vinntur would be awake and ready to stop him and question him. At this point it was getting a bit ridiculous. He didn’t want to waste a drive over there if Nelyn was going to be out of it when Vinntur finally let him go. 

“You really want to go, don’t you?” Vinntur hummed, reaching for his booze again. 

“Actually, yeah. We have limited windows because of his family.” His impatience must have leaked through his tone. 

“By all means, go,” Vinntur waved his hand. Relief filled him at those words. “Tell Nelyn I said hi, be careful not to get caught, and don’t you dare start drinking and call me to pick you up because I’m going to get drunk as fuck to forget the mental image you put in my head.” 

“You started asking!” Errion snapped hotly. “Besides we aren’t drinking. I can’t. I know better. I’m just — . . . getting laid.” The answer was lame, even for his standards. 

Vinntur’s eyebrows raised in a suggestive manner. “Be safe,” he singsonged. Errion could feel his brothers gaze on his back as he stalked from the kitchen into the foyer, sending a quick text to Nelyn to say that he was finally going to be on his way.


	5. first of his name.

“And this one is Errion Thilinaine. You know of his House, don’t you?” Luvie’s voice was sickly sweet. 

At the mention of the word House, Errion raised his eyes. What the fuck were they talking about? House? What did that even mean? 

The subtle motion was met with a swift, sharp kick to the face. Barely being able to bite back the gasp of pain, Errion collapsed onto his side, flinching when the Thalmor spit next to him. “Don’t fucking look at me without permission,” the voice was harsh, showing no pity for the boy. Gritting his teeth, Errion ran his tongue across his lips, able to taste his own blood. He forced himself back into a sitting position, keeping his eyes averted onto the floor. 

“I know of his House,” the Thalmor said, his voice bitter. “The Thilinaine’s are responsible for most of the humiliation my family suffered. And this is their heir?”

Heir? What were they _on_ about? 

“There’s no more proof that he is.” Luvie’s voice was soft, “we took care of that when he was young.” He strode forward, his boots clicking on the hard-tiled floor, hand reaching out and wrapping in Errion’s long, tangled hair. It took all of his strength to bite back a cry of pain, leaning with the motion so that the strain upon his roots wasn’t as bad. His clipped ear, a clear sign of his status as a slave, was exposed. “To anyone, he’s just a slave. He has no mark that makes him an heir, and no claim to his family last name. You can do whatever you want to him and have no repercussions. There is no one that cares!” 

Errion couldn’t help the guttural growl that pulled from the depths of him. In a quick motion that left him breathless, Luvie’s arm shot out, smashing Errion’s face against the tiles. 

Nothing cracked, but pain immediately rose. 

Gasping, Errion’s hands moved to hold him up, grimy fingers clawing into the floor. He was fourteen years old, and here he was, suffering before a _Thalmor_. He was too exhausted to suffer through more pain that he knew Luvie had in store for him, so he forced himself to stay quiet, instead leaning his forehead against the floor and praying to whatever God that was listening that Luvie and the Thalmor man just _left_. 

“Anything, you say?” The Thalmor sounded as if he were frowning. “Vorra, Ara, and Calna are dead?” 

Something inside of Errion snapped. His hands balled into fists, and much to his delight, neither man noticed. 

“Vorra went first, slashed right through the chest. That warrior wasn’t surviving that one. Ara and Calna . . . well, they were raped repetitively. I let my men do whatever they wanted to them before bringing me what they saw fit. This little whelp,” Luvie’s hand entangled in Errion’s hair again, yanking his head back and revealing his face. Blood was trickling down from his nose and his expression was twisted into a grimace, “wasn’t originally a part of my plan. The men did what they wanted with him, too, and when we found that he was alive? That he survived? He became _my_ whelp. I’m not letting a _Thilinaine_ go for any amount of coin that anyone could offer me.” His voice was heavy with satisfaction. 

As if Errion were a wolf in his path, the Thalmor kicked out, catching Errion in the ribs. Still being held up by Luvie, Errion wheezed, unable to fall forward. He could feel the blood beginning to pool against his skin where he had been struck. 

“Luvie,” Ra’Cha called, her voice a warning. “Leave him alone. He can’t handle it. He’s still weak.” 

“Shut up,” Errion growled, earning himself another kick from the Thalmor. This time it was more violent, silencing him faster. 

“He can handle it if I say he can,” Luvie murmured. His voice was loud enough for Ra’Cha to hear him. “Whatever you want to do to him, feel free. As long as he lives.” 

The Thalmor narrowed his eyes. “Is he submissive?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Are you going to get your goddamned whelp to lick my boots?” The words came out as a growl. “Show who is in charge?”

Errion’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Go on.” Luvie encouraged. His voice told Errion that there was no room to argue. “Show him what you can do.” 

The pressure on his skull released and he was granted slack, allowed a moment to swallow his pride. Throwing a sullen glare up at the Thalmor, Errion’s dark gaze narrowed as he took a shuddering breath, lowering himself onto all fours. He could feel his entire body straining, his brain screaming at him to just dart out of the damned way and escape, but his body had other plans.

Rather than lick his disgusting boots and bring himself shame, Errion spat. He spat on his stupid fucking boots, earning himself a surprised kick. This one was worse than the others, it knocked him fully back, causing him to land on his already dislocated shoulder. A sharp cry of agony unwillingly tore from his bloody lips, and he raised his hands to cover his face from enduring more harm. The blows were sent to his stomach and exposed ribs instead, and when the Thalmor soldier realized that that was getting nowhere, his fingers cruelly dug into Errion’s already injured shoulder, aiming to haul him to his feet and fuck it up some more. But, Luvie stepped in, his hand firm upon the Thalmor’s. 

“Don’t,” was what he started off with. “His disobedience will be taken care of on _my terms_. I need him alive.” 

“This damn kid doesn’t know a thing about his House, his family, and his _name_. You’re jerking him around here.” The Thalmor snarled. “He is _useless_. If you had any sense, you’d kill him.” 

Luvie’s eyes narrowed dangerously. An unspoken challenge rifted between himself and the Thalmor. “I will do with him what I will,” he said in a controlled tone of voice. “He is _my property_. Mine. He will suffer for his disobedience in time, but not now. He is weak, and as much as I hate to admit it, he needs treatment. Lay. Off.”

A moment of silence passed between the two men. Once he realized he had little power here, the Thalmor sniffed. “Fine. Do with him what you will. It doesn’t matter; soon his entire House will be wiped out and the rest will as well. He won’t go far in life. He’ll die here.”


	6. at worlds end.

Nelyn’s hands slip underneath Errion’s shirt, his fingers tracing warm patterns against his ribs. A breathy, weak sound escapes him, and Errion found that he couldn’t stop himself from rolling his hips into his boyfriends with just a slight hint of desperation. He only had a moment to try and catch his breath before Nelyn’s lips were claiming his with enough force to bruise, stealing his focus for what felt like the thousandth time. It seemed as if that was his boyfriend’s intention, for Errion’s hips had stilled from their haphazard search for friction. 

“Careful, darling,” Nelyn broke away with some difficulty to whisper in Errion’s ear. “You don’t want to ruin your jeans just from foreplay. I know I’m good, but that’s flattery.” 

“Then get them off me and fuck me like you know you want to.” His voice was shaky as he replies, letting his head fall back as finally, _finally_ Nelyn relented and his hands move to start pulling at the button keeping his jeans closed. His fingers are teasing as he slides the metal through the fabric, just barely grazing against the one place Errion wants to be touched. He has to bite back a low, needy moan when Nelyn’s hand instead cups the crotch of his pants. “Don’t make me beg,” Errion managed to get out clearly, but his voice still cracks. 

“I love hearing you beg for me.” Nelyn’s teeth grazed against a particularly sensitive spot underneath Errion’s earlobe, this time pulling a surprised sound from his lips. “But I suppose there’s always time for begging when I have you pinned under me, so close to finishing and desperate for your release.” 

As he spoke, his fingers had tugged down Errion’s fly and his hand had slipped inside, at first starting with snapping the waistband of Errion’s underwear against his pelvis before having mercy. On top of him, with his knees caging his boyfriend’s hips, Errion’s body went slack. His head remained tilted back whilst his hips ground into Nelyn’s hand, desperate again to be touched. Though his body felt as if it were boneless, and as if he were bound to burn up, all he had the mind for was release. If he were being honest, albeit, the combination of his boyfriend’s hand and the fabric of his boxers was bringing him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Errion, shut your phone up.” 

Nelyn’s words were muttered against the skin he was still worrying at, but they were enough to pull Errion back into reality. His head was still lolling back upon his shoulders, his back arched and hips bucking forward into Nelyn’s hand. He didn’t know when he had tangled his hands in Nelyn’s long hair, but it was a struggle to untangle his fingers from the thick locks and reach towards nightstand for his phone. He had forgotten to take the ringer off before he got here? That was unlike him . . . He didn’t even remember when his phone started _ringing_. 

Angling the screen at him so he could see the contact name, Errion groaned, and not from the teeth that were embedded in his skin and the petting. “It’s Vinntur, I have to answer it.” 

Nelyn made a noise of complaint against his skin, but didn’t see fit to pull away.

Praying Nelyn had the sense to not bite him again whilst he spoke to his brother, Errion accepted the call, having difficulty bringing the phone up to his ear and hearing past the throbbing of his pulse. His brain was still clouded, and it was hard to think about anything other than his boyfriend moving past the infuriating foreplay to fuck him, but somehow he managed it.

“H–hello? What’s going on?”

Vinntur’s voice came through right away, and didn’t sound as if he were playing games. His eldest brother was usually so carefree, never taking on serious edges unless situations called for it. Something was wrong. “I don’t care if you’ve got your boyfriends dick up your ass right now, but you need to get down to intensive care right away.” He hadn’t even given a greeting.

“Hn —” Nelyn’s hand slipped inside of his boxers, and Errion had to bite his tongue so he didn’t cry out. Nevertheless, his hips bucked into Nelyn’s closed fist despite the fact that he was currently cursing him out mentally, but being unable to bring himself to ask him to stop touching him. “What happened?” 

“Melnian got hit by a fucking truck, Errion. Intensive care. _Now._ You need to pick up Calna from her mock exam, too, so we can all be there. Don’t waste any time.” 

“Wait — _what_?” Nelyn, having heard Vinntur’s side of the conversation, finally stopped. Not that Errion wanted him to stop, even whilst hearing that his brother had been hit by a truck. A truck, of all things! He was throbbing, but if he wasted time just to finish himself off — . . . It wasn’t an option, God no. “When?” Guilt flooded him. As he looked down at Nelyn, his boyfriend had on a carefully guarded expression, his face betraying nothing. His hand pulled out of Errion’s pants, but that didn’t mean he was done tormenting him; his tongue lapped at his long fingers, leaving them and his lips shiny. 

“An hour ago. They finally found his emergency contact and called me. He’s in surgery, they don’t know if he’s going to make it. Hurry the fuck up and get here because I can’t — if he dies — just get here.” 

Vinntur’s end of the line went dead. Errion sat back on Nelyn’s thighs, his legs weak from the news, staring at Nelyn’s rumpled shirt. His phone was held loosely in his hand. He looked the wrinkles that were beginning to form in the fabric without really seeing them. 

“I can drive,” Nelyn offered quietly. “If you don’t think you can, I can and we can go pick up Calna together.” 

“I . . . yeah. Yeah. Thank you, I would really appreciate that.” 

In less than five minutes, they both were back to looking at least decent. The news had been sobering enough to crush all desire he had, and though it was a slight disappointment to get interrupted as he got so close to getting what he wanted, he mostly felt guilty. Guilty because he blew Melnian off to go get laid for the first time in a long time. Busy schedules left little time for reconciliation, and when Errion had gotten the offer for it, it had been a battle of his will.

On one hand, he had wanted to spend time with his brother. Melnian was the brother closest to him in age, and he had recently gone away to college. He was back for a few days, and this was his last day home. Errion had been too busy to spend time with him and had promised that today would be dedicated to him, but had ended up blowing him off when Nelyn’s offer had been too tempting. God, he was an idiot! His brother was paying for a mistake Errion had made!

“I blew him off,” Errion’s voice was void of any true emotion. “I told him I had other things to do. Now they don’t know if he’s going to even make it through surgery.” 

“This is not your fault.” Nelyn’s voice is firm. “Bad things happen, but this is not your fault. All you can do right now is be there for him and for the rest of your family.” He sounded awkward giving the advice, but it flew over Errion’s head. He couldn’t stop thinking about how guilty he felt, how this had only happened because he blew him off. If his brother died . . . he would never forgive himself.


	7. keepers of their faith.

“Is he breathing?” Silmia breathed, hardly daring to touch Errion’s arm. “Please tell me he didn’t slip away in his sleep.” 

“He still breathes.” Calna confirmed, but her hands did not stray from his. His cold, clammy hand was held between both of hers, almost as if her touch alone could bring him back from the brink of death. “I pray that he doesn’t get taken in his sleep. He does not deserve to suffer anymore.” 

“I do not know what would be best for him, Your Majesty. Slipping away now, or slipping away later once infection enters his blood. I pray for neither.” Silmia took a seat on Errion’s other side, her bright gaze glimmering with sadness. “My son should not grow up without his father.” 

Calna looked away. “No child should have to grow up without their parents.” She murmured, a strange expression crossing her face. “I understand that you came as soon as the letter reached you, yes?”

“Of course. I would never leave my husband to suffer in good faith. He may not love me in the ways I desire, but we are close.” Both women were aware of where Errion’s true interests were currently tied up. “Alas, how bad would it look if the wife of the Commander was not here for when he passed?”

“He won’t pass.” Calna’s voice was quiet, but trembling with determination. “He is a Thilinaine, blessed with strength. This is nothing.” Her thumb ran soothingly across the back of his hand, watching as his fingers twitched in response. “It is a lonely thing, to be the last Thilinaine in the world. For selfish reasons, I wish him to stay.” 

Silmia laughed. A strangled, tight sound, but a laugh nonetheless. “To be alone in the world is at terrible fate, Your Grace. I have true faith that he will survive.” 

“Where is he?” Another female voice shouted, the pathetic excuse for a door to the tent whipping open. There stood their leader of this rebellion, Fara Dornke, gaze wild. “Is that —”

Calna smiled sadly. “Yes. He took a mace to the chest, shattered through his armor. He protected my son.” Errion, always the sacrificial type. It was going to be the death of him. “There’s little they can do for him now.” 

Fara stared blankly at her. ‘Mer like Fara, the Bosmer people, didn’t seem to understand death as well as the Dunmer or the Altmer did. They were a private people, just as the Altmer were, but believed in such strange things that you could not get involved in unless you were fully dedicated. 

“I’m going to go check in on my son.” Silmia rose to her feet, gathering her skirts up underneath her and leaving the tent. Fara took her seat, expression grim. 

“It’s a bit too early to tell if he will make it.” Calna offered, but Fara ignored her. She knew Errion had been more a mentor to her, like a father. “Have faith, Little Dragon. My dear brother is a fighter.” 


End file.
